


Routine Surveillance

by Oriole T (inamac)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Time, M/M, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1984-08-15
Updated: 1984-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:19:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/Oriole%20T
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What starts as the usual boring routine surveillance job ends up as something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Routine Surveillance

# Routine Surveillance

  


### by Oriole AT

"I see you finally decided to turn up, then?" Doyle was looking pointedly at his watch with an expression of infuriating smugness. Bodie, who was perfectly well aware that he was a mere ten minutes late for the stake-out duty, merely grinned.

"Getting lonely without me, were you?"

"No. But if they'd made a break while you were pratting around getting here..." Doyle let the sentence fade, his tone adding the threat of his own and Cowley's wrath. Bodie ignored it. His casual gesture indicated the banks of tape recorders and alarm devices which shored up one wall of the large bedroom.

"If they manage to get out of that place without us knowing after all the trouble we had installing this lot it's Lucas who's going to cop it." He dropped his jacket over the back of the swivel chair which faced the equipment, leaned over and experimentally flicked a couple of switches.

"What 'ave we got, anyway?"

The sound of low, even breathing boomed round the room. Doyle jumped and moved across to turn down the volume.

"For Chrissake Bodie!" Then he calmed a little, indicating various dials and readouts. "Mikes in the bedroom and kitchen, pressure alarms on front and back doors, tremblers on all the windows."

"Thorough," Bodie nodded. "What about the loft?"

Doyle, too, remembered the one occasion when they'd forgotten the loft. Not this time though. They'd learned that lesson.

"Boarded up. Anyway, there's no roof access to the place." He frowned at the equipment. "Dunno why they need us at all. Soon as anything happens in that building this lot'll go bananas. Be like Christmas in Regent Street."

"Yeah." Bodie turned his attention to the only other furniture in the room - a double bed which had been shoved up against the wall to make room for the surveillance gear. His eyes lit up. "Well, for once we've got a bit of comfort on the job. Think I'll catch up on my kip."

"Thought you were going to do that last night - or wouldn't Wendy let you?"

"Wish she had," Bodie looked morose. Doyle, recognising the signs, gave a tiny, smug smile.

"Didn't she want to play ball, then?"

"Oh yeah, but she's off the bloody Pill again."

"So? Thought you were a Boy Scout - be prepared an' all that."

"Oh, she'd thought of that." The morose tone gave way to a grin and a smothered snort of laughter. "Couldn't decide what colour she wanted, could she? An' by the time she'd made up her mind I was laughing too much to get it up." He looked up at Doyle an expression compounded of remorse and amusement. Doyle cracked. up. By the time he had groped his way back to coherence the tension between them had dissipated. He threw himself down onto the bed beside his partner, propping himself up on both elbows in order to keep an eye on the readout screen across the room.

"Had the same trouble the first time I tried Durex. Bloody funny things."

Bodie glanced thoughtfully, down the length of his prone body. "Yeah. Willie's not stupid. Rather get up for a nice warm cunt than the London Rubber Company any time."

"Course," Doyle looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling, "There's always the other alternative."

"Huh?"

The green eyes closed, briefly, reflectively. "Arse backwards," he explained.

"Sodomy?" Bodie sounded vaguely surprised. Doyle's brows drew together.

"Oh, we are being technical, aren't we? 'Aven't you ever tried it?"

"Well," a sheepish grin, "Sort of. . ." He was remembering, with embarrassment, his first time with a girl. He'd been damn lucky that she, too, hadn't been a virgin or he might never have got it right. So much for learning from the birds and bees.

Doyle misinterpreted his blush

"Yeah. Fun, innit?" His look was questioning, almost speculative, and Bodie, already embarrassed by the past, became suddenly wary of the present. He sat up abruptly.

"Anyone ever told you you've got a filthy mind?" he asked, conversationally, and changed the subject abruptly before Doyle could reply. The other man was left groping for an answer.

"The bike? Oh, yeah. Found a place out at Streatham with the part in stock. Should be able to finish it Monday - if this job doesn't break first."

"It won't," said Bodie, with the conviction of one who has learned that stake-out duty is interminable. "Those sods in there are settled in 'til Christmas.

The statement, thoughtless and casual, fell into a treacle-sticky silence. Doyle glanced out at the blank window across the road.

"Maybe they are," he observed. Bodie, hypersensitive to the sexual innuendo, almost started and had to school his voice to careful neutrality to reply.

"No way."

Any hope he might have had that Doyle's mind was less single-tracked than his own was dispelled by his partner's thoughtful response.

"Wouldn't put it past them. Wouldn't put it past anyone, even you?"

It was a question. Bodie looked away, firmly avoiding Doyle's disconcerting gaze as he sought for a safe answer. It was like picking his way through a minefield of the English language, a crazy word-game that was far more difficult than the Times crossword and, he felt obscurely, far more dangerous.

"Like I said, not before Christmas." His voice brightened, brittle. "Every one should have something to look forward to."

"Yeah." It was said thoughtfully and Bodie became aware that his partner's look was centred. on his nether regions. He slid. off the bed, rose to his feet, and paced restlessly across the room. The eyes followed..

Bodie paused by the tripod which supported the telescopic camera and bent to glance through the viewfinder. Despite his feigned unconcern he could feel his partner's gaze boring into his back. He spoke with his attention still concentrated on the house across the road and could have cursed the words even as he said them.

"You get a good view from here, anyway."

"True." The agreement was rough with passionate appreciation. This time Doyle gave him no chance to dodge the subject as he elaborated.

"Anyone ever tell you you've got a beautiful little bum?"

"So've you, sunshine " Bodie tossed off the reply without thinking, but a picture rose before his eyes, blocking out the blank-windowed image in the camera viewfinder; Doyle, svelte and slim-hipped, faded jeans painted over double curves that positively invited the touch of fondling hands. He'd never consciously noticed it before in Ray, although he considered himself a connoisseur of that portion of female anatomy. His partner, he knew, was a leg man. Bodie, with honest voluptuousness preferred arse and tits. Something you could really get a hold of. He glanced across the room to find Doyle standing in an awkward twisted position, chin on his left shoulder in an attempt to peer critically down at his own backside. A frown pulled the serpentine brows down in satyrish concentration.

"You think so?" he asked, with a seriousness that killed the humorous retort already on Bodie's lips. Instead he crossed the room, pausing only for an instant as Doyle's head came up in a querist tilt, before his hand closed around the object in question.

"Definitely," he asserted, as Doyle jerked and. extricated himself with a curse.

"Fuck off, Bodie. What're you playing at"

Bodie's mouth dropped open. "What am I playing at? Listen, mate, you brought the subject up."

"It was just an academic conversation. You didn't have to bloody make a pass at me! Just 'cause you didn't score last night..." Backing away Doyle suddenly found that he had reached the wall. He planted his back firmly against it, but the hardness of plaster only served to burn the remembered touch into his flesh.

Bodie made no move to follow. He merely stood square, facing him, his hands on his own hips now, thumbs hooked over his belt, the smooth features marked by a flush that might be anger, or amusement, or embarrassment - or a combination of all three. To Doyle the dark eyes still seemed speculative and he dropped his gaze, furious, with himself as he did so, for his partner's pose directed the focus of his attention unerringly to his groin.

"You," said. Bodie, "have been giving me the come-on since I walked through that door. If you want screwing I'll bloody well oblige you. Otherwise we drop the subject right now. Agreed?"

Doyle swallowed. He recognised the truth of his partner's statement. He had been teasing him - more openly than he had ever dared before - but he had reckoned without Bodie's direct solutions to problems. Or maybe his subconscious had. Presented with the opportunities of a day alone with his partner, a room, and a bed, he'd wanted to find out how far he could take the sexual awareness that had always sparked between them, the macho jokes with which they'd each been protecting their masculinity for years. Now he had his answer. Or rather he had the chance to give it to Bodie's question. He nodded, decision made.

"Agreed.."

"Good.." Bodie turned away. "I'll get some kip then. Wake me if that alarm goes off."

Doyle's world shattered.

"But..." he stammered, "I agreed…"

"Yeah. To drop the subject. . ." Bodie paused in mid-sentence and did a long, slow double-take. "Christ, Ray, you mean..."

Doyle nodded, his reply choked with a gasp of arousal. He leaned back against the support of the wall, his eyes closed, body mutely answering the unspoken question. Any hope that Bodie might have entertained that this was merely a joke, a put-on, were graphically dispelled. He caught his own breath.

"Ray...I can't.

"You said....you had..." Doyle's fingers curled, clenched, and Bodie watched  
them, fascinated.

"Yeah. But not with a bloke."

"It shouldn't make....any...difference..." His right hand relaxed, moved to close again over the hardness trapped in those tight-fitting jeans, and the tautness in his voice eased as his fingers worked.

"Bodie… please-"

It was not the plea which moved Bodie so much as the sight of his partner strung out on the pain of desire. He had never liked to see a friend hurting; had always found the strength in himself to cope with any situation - to help, And it was clear that Doyle needed help - if only to save the sanity of both of them. Almost involuntarily he took a step forward, and Doyle's hand moved to clasp his upper arm, pulling him close so that their bodies touched and the gently-moving fingers were trapped by his own thighs.

Christ - he couldn't, he told himself firmly as his guts churned with a feeling he dared not identify. He sought refuge in the practicalities. He certainly couldn't try anything while Ray was fully dressed with his back planted firmly against the wall.

And he realised belatedly that his partner had already solved part of that problem as purposeful long fingers delved behind unbuckled belt, waistband and Y-fronts to seek his own responsive flesh. The zip slid open under the combined strain and Doyle echoed the sound with a sob, eyes still squeezed closed, head back to crush his curls against the plaster and expose the sweat-sticky length of his throat. His lips parted to draw breath and his shirt strained across his chest in response, buttons and fabric-shrouded nipples rubbing against his partner's.

Bodie gasped, - and not wholly because of the effect of the hand cupped around his sex. He had never, outside of a blue movie, seen such naked sensuality on any face, male or female, before. And this was not faked. It inspired awe. His own hand moved to Doyle's neck, thumb resting on the point of the jaw, feeling the pulsebeat jumping under the thin skin.

Doyle moved with the pressure, his open mouth claiming Bodie's with blind purpose. For a full minute they stood frozen, not even working at the kiss. Then Doyle's eyes opened. He swallowed, drawing Bodie's tongue into his own mouth, and his hands fought free to clasp the dark head still to vent his own desperate passion. The fire in his groin died. No longer close to the edge he savoured the contact, the closeness, knowing that he could reach the peak again, today, with Bodie. And that he wanted to.

More than anything he'd ever felt in his life, he wanted to.

Bodie broke the kiss.

"Ray?"

"Yeah?" Please God don't let him back out now. I haven't got time to seduce him.

"Don' suppose there's a cold shower in this flat?"

"In a surveillance flat? We're bloody lucky we've got the bed."

"Better use it then, hadn't we?"

"Thought you'd never ask..,"

The passion was building again, but now Doyle knew he had time to savour it. Bodie was hooked, Now he only had to draw him in... His buttocks clenched as the other man moved his hands back to finish stripping him of jeans and briefs, at the same time pushing him down onto the bed. The movement brought Doyle's face level with Bodie's over-clad hips. He reciprocated, peeling away both layers of dark fabric by touch alone, his lips following his fingers down the line of fine hair that ran from Bodie's navel until his nose was buried in sex-scented curls darker than his own, and his chin nudged at still-flaccid genitals. Bodie's indrawn breath remedied that, pulling him away from the touch.

"Careful, That scratches."

Brutally Doyle held him still. "N not gonna bloody shave now. You'll 'ave to put up with it." He underlined the comment by rubbing the side of his face against the other man's inner thigh, blowing gently.

"Fuckin…"

From the corner of his eye Doyle saw Bodie's hand clench, then he was hurled back onto the bed and his partner was on top of him, hands on shoulders, chest, upper arms, tangled in his hair, lips everywhere, a whirlwind of lust, of sensation, of unleashed wildcat fury.

"Hey!" Even as he voiced the protest Doyle realised that he did not want Bodie to stop. He'd unleashed what he'd wanted, strength and passion, and a mindless, lustful slavery to his own body that few women had been able to give him. But Bodie could. It might have been too fast, but it was what he'd wanted. and when his partner's erection was shoved between his thighs his only reason for panic was that he might not be able to turn quickly enough.

Keep it, Bodie, please God, keep it...

Fingers bruised his shoulders. His thighs and buttocks were sticky with premature come before Bodie's weight rose from him and came down again and again, down, and into and through him, filling and fulfilling every desire in sliding, agonising euphoria.

Fun he'd called it. As Bodie rolled away from him, an unreadable expression in his sweat-beaded face, Doyle thought ruefully that he'd underestimated just how much fun. Or forgotten.

"Remind me...to thank...Wendy...sometime," he croaked.

Bodie summoned the strength to raise an eyebrow. Doyle clarified the comment, his own breath still coming short. "You bin saving that since last night, 'ave you?"

"Yeah." Bodie sounded doubtful. "Told you I needed a cold shower."

Doyle was outraged. "An' miss that? Hell, Bodie, I told you it was fun."

"For you?"

Doyle recognised the expression now. Remorse. And guilt. The stupid prat, he thought, fiercely, of course for me. The, thought made him suddenly conscious of his own unfulfilled desire. It was, perhaps, too soon, but his fingers clutched at Bodie's arms, pulling him back into an embrace.

"You want proof? Touch me, Bodie. Make me come. Please..,

Bodie shivered against him, hesitating for a moment before he dared obey.

Then he ran a long forefinger over Doyle's full, moist lips before touching it to his own tongue, savouring the taste, mint and masculinity, before sliding his hand down between his partner's legs, the slight dampness lubricating dry foreskin, gliding to settle across the snub tip with the practiced caress that he'd taught so many girls. His partner moved, relaxed, but the arousal that he'd expected did not fill his hand. Instead Doyle's head tilted, the eyes still open, expectant, as he whispered his own instructions.

"Not like that. Ring me..."

Obediently Bodie's fingers curled around the still-flaccid organ, palm cupping on balls which quivered under the touch as, at last, Doyle's eyes closed, a tongue flicked out over the full lips and he thrust once, bringing himself to arousal.

"Yesss...

The sigh was encouragement. Bodie, absurdly pleased that he'd got it right, and still surprised by the differences between them, reached his free hand around Doyle's waist, forcing the other man to arch against him to accommodate the embrace. His questing fingers slid down Doyle's spine, over the hard knob of his coccyx to encounter the stickiness of his own semen where it seeped from his partner's body. Doyle's face went taut, eyes screwed shut and his mouth open in a voiceless scream. Bodie himself shuddered response as Doyle filled his hand, opening the encircling fingers with a jerk which rammed darkly ensanguined flesh hard against the base of his thumb. Overload thudded in Bodie's ears and jumped in his throat as he watched, awed, as Doyle was flayed by orgasm.

It had. taken no more than minutes. In the aftermath Bodie was very conscious of the sounds; the drone of passing traffic beyond the window, the clack of footsteps moving up the street, the hum of the recording apparatus in the room. He was recording the sounds himself, storing up the memories knowing that he would want to recall the moment - to relive it.

His introspection was shattered abruptly as Doyle sat up beside him, disclosing his own feelings with a wince, mouth pursed in a silent 'O' of discomfort.

"You," he said, rubbing a hand over a bruised shoulder, "are bloody heavy. Next time..." He got no further. Bodie stopped. the complaint with his lips.

"Next time? Is that a promise?"

Doyle hesitated, but memory had already made the decision for him.

"Not a promise, you idiot. It's a threat. My place or yours?"

Bodie wrinkled his nose thoughtfully, and then with more purpose, raising sticky fingers to inspect them with disgust. "Hmmm. Anywhere that there's a shower. An' that is a promise."

"When?"

Bodie kissed him. "Tonight. When we've finished this sodding surveillance."

Doyle's reply was lost in the clangour of the alarms.

~End~

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct transcript of a story originally written in 1984 for the duplicated Hatstand Circuit. I've sternly resisted the temptation to re-write (save for one word-change to correct a 'that's physically impossible' clinch) because I hope that the intervening 25 years has somewhat improved my pornwriting skills. Nevertheless, despite being wildly overwritten, this does have some historic interest. In particular younger readers should be aware that (a) rainbow-coloured and flavoured condoms were pretty much the limit of exotic sex aids in 1984 Britain and (b) pre-AIDS and outside the gay community, the idea of using a condom for anal sex would have been regarded as pointless (this is one of the tiny number of stories from the period that even mentions them).


End file.
